


Through a Glass, Darkly

by sheron



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: Allergic reaction, Antagonism, Canon Compliant, Discord - Freeform, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, New York SSR, Post-Season/Series 01, Pre-Season/Series 02, comradery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-08-09 16:27:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7808920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheron/pseuds/sheron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a routine visit to the New York SSR science lab, Jack gets dosed with something of Stark's that seems to make him sick. Takes place in the hiatus between S1 and S2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Through a Glass, Darkly

**Author's Note:**

> My love-affair with Jack & Peggy's prickly ~~friendship?~~ relationship continues. Written for my 'allergic reaction' h/c bingo square and is basically as advertised.

 

 

After a month, it seemed that Jack's Interim Chief of the New York SSR position would become more permanent and Peggy was still deciding what that meant for her own career. Daniel had left for L.A. without much fanfare; gone as soon as the position opened up. One day he was in New York, then Peggy was passing by his newly empty desk every morning, with a hollow sense of loss and missed opportunities. She kept herself busy and didn't think of him more than a few times a day.

The case of Dottie Underwood was heating up again. They'd gotten a tip (an anonymous call routed through a myriad of connections they hadn't been able to trace) about the bank vault that was to be the target of Dottie's next hit. Attention from the higher-ups was on how they'd handle her capture, and Jack's presence was everywhere at the office, like a dog corralling sheep to do his bidding. 

At least he was no longer treating Peggy as his secretary. A lot had changed between them since that fateful trip to Europe, and even with the two-steps-forward-one-step-back dance they seemed to be constantly involved in, they worked more smoothly together now that they were no longer working at cross purposes. Both wanted to catch Dottie, and Peggy had a strong suspicion this wasn't just a matter of another notch on the belt for Jack either. He was determined to take care of every angle, begrudgingly reaching out to Peggy for advice with the knowledge she understood the most about Dottie out of all of them. (And she didn't understand Dottie well at all, which worried Peggy when she paused to think of it.)

With the people who worked for him, Jack had been acting as composed as could be for weeks now, emulating Dooley's style of running the office. Things were settling in. Even Peggy was starting to think he might actually be alright at the job, if she was around to nudge and prod him in the right direction, watching out for those unexpected blind spots that puzzled and frustrated Peggy in all the men she worked with. 

But for all Jack's attempts at playing him, he wasn't Dooley, and impatience was getting the best of Chief Thompson that morning as he strode through the office in the direction of the labs, throwing only a curt "Carter, come along," call on the way. Peggy followed immediately, knowing it for an opportunity to contribute that it was, even if it was offered under the guise of a barked order. Jack had made an art-form of letting her help while making it look like _he_ was doing _her_ a favour to include her. Whether he feared a betrayal (and her record wasn't stellar in that respect, she had to admit) or losing face in front of the other men at the office for taking advice from a "girl", Peggy didn't know and didn't care. As long as Jack didn't get in the way of her doing her job, she could work with him. She'd worked with far worse.

Jack's rapid and loud entrance into the lab made the scientists jump in the middle of what they were doing, and one of the men standing by the door sprayed Jack in the face with some noxious substance. Peggy only got a distant whiff of the terrible stench, but Jack choked and coughed, gagging.

"What the hell―" he wheezed, "―was that?!"

"My hand spasmed," the scientist bleated. "I'm so sorry, sir! It's completely harmless," Watts offered a paper tissue to Jack, adding, "we hope."

Jack's left hand was spasming too, forming a fist at his side, but he controlled himself, deliberately rolling his shoulders out to appear more in charge.

"You hope?" he growled, patting down his face with tissue for any remains of the spray. Peggy looked him over, but he appeared to be fine, if more than a little annoyed.

"Harmless," Watts confirmed, nodding rapidly. 

One of his colleagues came to the rescue, "We've had some real progress on this Box With a Blue Blinking Light today, sir. Would you like to see?"

Jack visibly tried to get a grip, shaking his head a little and clearing his throat. "What have you got?"

The lab scientists were largely helpless in the face of Howard Stark's inventions, and the man himself refused to elaborate on their function. In fact, Howard was lobbying to get his inventions destroyed and/or returned into his care, something Jack stood vehemently against. Peggy understood both points of view, which predictably only served to cause strain in her relationship with both men, who abhorred the notion of a compromise. 

As a result of their lack of knowledge, most things of Howard's invention that were at the SSR labs bore either a number or ― to facilitate conversation ― simple naming conventions that sprang up among the scientists, such as 'that Rod with an Iron Coil' and now the 'Box with a Blue Blinking Light'. As long as the verbiage didn't make it into the official reports, Jack didn't much care about the language of the parley when he came down to the labs. He always seemed to expect Peggy to know something about Howard's inventions, as though having worked to rescue the man's reputation once had forever tied Peggy and Howard into a single unit in Jack's mind. Whether this was accurate, Peggy couldn't say, only knowing that when Howard came to her with a request she found it terribly difficult to refuse the man on account of everything they'd been through together. Maybe she was, in part, Howard's, and Howard was somehow hers. Once you lived through something like what they'd had together, it bound you, irrefutably.

Peggy wondered if one day she might look back on these times of working with Jack Thompson and reminisce fondly of them, too. She tried not to shudder, but such turns of events weren't without precedent in high-pressure jobs. They certainly faced danger side-by-side on frequent bases, she and Jack, but a lot would have to change first before fondness rather than frustration was top of her mind when she thought of her current boss.

Who was saying impatiently, "Well, Carter?" and motioning at the item on the table that all the scientists crowded excitedly around. She had no idea what it was, or why it slowly blinked blue rather than any other colour.

"Howard didn't explain each of his inventions to me," she said, wishing she couldn't see disappointment flit through Jack's grey eyes before he turned back to the lab folk. They were demonstrating some new property of the device. Jack didn't have any jeering remarks on offer today, but Peggy felt like she'd failed another test, which was ridiculous. The science lab wasn't her area of expertise, and maybe he'd even brought her down here to demonstrate as much, to prove to himself she wasn't any better than him at something. Or maybe Jack had genuinely expected her to know what Howard was up to and was finally taking her seriously. She couldn't tell, with him.

The constant competitive nature of their relationship was rarely boring, but too often it frustrated more than it satisfied. After it was determined that the only news was no news, Jack reinforced the need for answers and they headed out of the labs. On their way back to the main office, Peggy unconsciously sped up through the halls, trying to put distance between her and that uncomfortable experience. She only slowed when she realized Jack wasn't walking next to her, and turned to find him a few steps back, shaking his head as though to clear it.

"What is it?" she called, but he just looked annoyed and caught up with her without much of an explanation.

Peggy kept a wary eye on Jack the next couple of hours, but he looked the same as he always did, barking orders and sending his men scurrying about while Peggy occupied herself with reviewing the building plans for the bank. She was starting to get a fairly good sense of where the weak-spots were and where Dottie might sneak in, unless of course she favoured a frontal attack...

When Peggy next looked up from the blueprints it was evening. Majority of the office had disappeared promptly at 5:01 pm, leaving to spend the evening with their families. The remaining few either didn't want to go home or didn't have someone to go home to. Peggy didn't glance at Daniel's still empty desk on the way to Jack's office, knocking and entering promptly, without waiting for a response.

Jack was propping up his cheek with a fist, slumped against the desk in a lazily relaxed posture. He blinked blearily at her and straightened. "What is it?" She could have sworn he had been day-dreaming before she came in, but he sounded entirely professional now so she pretended not to notice the slight slip up.

Peggy rolled out the blueprints on his desk, right over the files he had there and pointed to one of the boxes. "See this air-vent here?"

He heard her out. In the back of her head, even as she was explaining her best guess at the easy way into the bank building, she was also noticing little things off about him, details like him fiddling with his starched collar looking uncomfortably like he wanted to loosen it but wouldn't allow himself to do so, while at work. But such trivialities aside, Jack answered her comments rapidly and coherently, and they fell into their typical back and forth the way they could sometimes, when egos got set aside and work took priority. Peggy felt a sense of rare satisfaction with her job, knowing she was being listened to for once and already anticipating the let-down coming tomorrow, when things would be back exactly to how they started, with Jack asserting his supposed superiority over her publicly and loudly, first thing in the morning. It happened less frequently these days, which gave her hope, yet the experience was so distant from the easy rapport she knew them capable of as to be jarring.

But she couldn't dwell on such things for long, and they wrapped up the meeting in amicable fashion, with Jack accepting the suggestion they check in with the bank security tomorrow about the air-vents.

At the last moment, as she was leaving, Peggy turned back around to see Jack staring at the wall, seemingly lost in thought in a way that was, again, unusual for him. "Is everything alright?"

"What?" He glanced up, surprised to find her still there. "Yeah, no, I think I'm coming down with a head cold or something." He rubbed his forehead, then waved at Peggy to go, "I'll sleep it off, I'm sure it's nothing."

"Good night," Peggy said and he echoed it back before she shut the door to his office behind her.  


 

* * *

 

It was a testament to how much Dottie occupied her thoughts that Peggy hadn't even considered the connection to the spray at the lab until the next morning at the office, when she walked in slightly later than the typical work start time, only to have Agent Harris turn to her questioning, "Have you seen the Chief?"

"Chief Thompson isn't in?" Peggy asked, surprised both by the news and by the fact that other agents thought them close enough that she'd know his whereabouts when they didn't.

Harris shook his head. "It's very unusual."

Peggy nodded, turning a wondering eye to the empty office. Jack was many things, but a slacker wasn't one of them. Usually first in and last out of the office, he never took sick days and the fact that he hadn't reported in at all was concerning. The moment with the spray the morning before, and his lost stare at the end of the evening when he'd alluded to a head cold, jumped again to the forefront of her mind. 

"Have you rung his place?" 

Harris nodded. "No answer."

"Someone should go check if he's home and just overslept," she said.

"Glad to hear you volunteer," Harris jumped on it immediately, looking relieved. He called to the office at large, "Hey, Carter's going to head over and check on the Chief." The regular low buzzing noise in the office paused as everyone made various notes of agreement at the news, before returning to their own work.

Peggy gave a put-upon sigh and set a hand on her hip. "What is his home address?" If this was some kind of a juvenile prank again, they would all pay dearly. But she took the paper with the address scrawled on it, worrying at the back of her mind about what might have made Jack late when it wasn't like him at all, and headed out. 

Jack lived in a classy but impersonal apartment building on the east side, white brick and wrought iron, his apartment all the way on the top fifth floor. The doorman gave her a nod and a smile, while letting her through.

At Jack's apartment door, Peggy took a deep breath and knocked. If he was annoyed with her coming here, than he really had nobody to blame but himself. She was composing snappy responses to any possible belligerence on his end while she waited, shifting from foot to foot. There was no answer, so Peggy knocked again, and then again, louder. "Jack, open up!" she called, "It's me, Peggy." (He was wholly responsible for any assumptions his neighbours could jump to regarding her appearance, she decided.)

He didn't answer. A cold shiver ran up Peggy's spine, but she calmed herself. Maybe he wasn't in. It was such a simple matter to pick the lock... Peggy glanced down at the door handle, considered calling the landlord to explain, and pictured the embarrassing confrontation later if Jack turned out to be fine... she tried the door and to her surprise found it unlocked, easily swinging forward.

No longer hesitating, Peggy stuck a hand into her purse, gripping the handle of the gun she always carried with her and pushing the door open with the other hand.

"Jack?" she called. 

Peggy's heart skipped a beat to find him on the couch, still in the same light grey suit he wore to the office the day before, but looking for all intents and purposes asleep, without a mark on him. Letting go of her gun, she strode over to Jack, noticing immediately that he was definitely breathing, even though he looked pale. Cursing under her breath for the scare he'd given her, she touched him lightly on the shoulder intending to wake him. Then Peggy shook the shoulder a little less hesitantly when Jack didn't wake.

For a second it seemed this too would have no effect, but eventually Jack opened his eyes.

"Carter?" he murmured, and began to cough.

"Are you alright?" Peggy said. He didn't look alright, his eyes red and lips looking dry and parched, as someone with a high-fever. His cough subsided.

"What are you doing here?" he said, attempting to look around, by lifting his head and wincing as he did, "Are you in my apartment?"

"Yes, yes," Peggy nodded, worried about his condition, "You didn't show to work so I came to check on you."

Normally this would have rattled Jack, but he appeared mostly disoriented. "What time is it?"

"It's nearly 10." She perched on the coffee table near the sofa, continuing to study him and not liking what she saw. "You overslept."

"I feel... _terrible_ ," he said this gravely, like it had taken him some time to find the appropriate word that adequately captured it. He set his head back down on the couch, as though supporting it was too hard. His brow had broken out in sweat, shining on the pallid skin. The more she studied him the more worried Peggy became. "I couldn't sleep all night because of this cough. I think I'm sick..."

"I think you are, too," Peggy said. "You might be having a reaction to that spray you got dosed with at the lab yesterday."

"What?" Jack blinked slowly her way. "That's ridiculous."

"Is it?" Peggy said. "When did these symptoms start?"

"I'm not allergic to anything," Jack insisted, then continued when she wouldn't let up. "I was fine at the lab. I felt a little odd last evening, so I went home right after you left." He paused and cleared his throat, seeming to be short of breath, before continuing with effort, "Took a cab, didn't have much energy so I just...." his voice trailed off.

"Jack?" Peggy said sharply, sitting up straight.

"Slept." Jack said firmly, looking at once more alert. He even propped himself up on his elbows, looking her way with annoyance. For a moment he looked himself again, sharp-eyed and present. "I tried to sleep. I think I do have a cold or the flu. Nothing to worry about, I just need to sleep it off."

"Jack, I really think―"

"No, Carter," she could practically watch him digging his heels in, as he drew his title and position around himself like armor, "Go back to the office. Tell the guys I'm fine and I will be in tomorrow."

She pursed her lips.

"Peggy," he said, not unkindly, glancing meaningfully at the front door.

"Alright," she said. Jack lay back down immediately, the effort clearly having cost him most of his remaining strength. She glanced about finding the telephone, and carried it as close as the cord would stretch, to set it next to the couch. "But phone the doctor if anything changes and you feel worse." She stood and looked him over critically where he lay sprawled on the sofa.

"Still don't need a mother," Jack murmured with eyes closed.

When she was a the door, she heard something that made her turn around. Jack was silent, seemingly asleep, his breaths audible in the quiet room.

It might have been just her imagination, but she thought she'd heard a whispered "thanks."

Peggy had no way to answer this scrap of an acknowledgment.

She quietly shut the door behind her.  


 

* * *

 

At the SSR, Peggy headed straight down to the labs. She needed to find out what that spray was.

"Actually," Watts said, "we don't know exactly what it does, but it is harmless. We've tested it on animals and nothing happened for twenty four hours."

Peggy felt one of her eye-lids twitch. 

"Mostly harmless?" Watts said uncertainly at her expression. Then after a moment, added worriedly, "Is Chief Thompson alright?"

"He thinks he has the flu, but I'm strongly suspecting that whatever you have in that canister that he got a face-full of yesterday is causing him to fall ill."

"Oh dear."

" _Indeed_ ," Peggy said. "I need you to determine _exactly_ what is in that spray."

Watts nodded rapidly. "On it, ma'am. Sir. Agent. Right away."

"I will be at my desk. As soon as you find anything, you must call me directly." Peggy rose grimly. "In the meantime, I need to phone Howard." 

She gave the news to the guys at the office, about Jack taking a sick day, and pretended amusement at the gentle ribbing that issued on account of the Chief slacking off. She hadn't completely discounted the possibility of Jack simply having a regular old virus, as he insisted, but she also didn't get to where she was by ignoring her gut instinct. And her instincts were screaming at her now.

She phoned Howard, who wasn't in, then Mr. Jarvis, who sounded concerned about the entire affair once she informed him of it, and assured Peggy he would attempt to get hold of Mr. Stark right away. Instantly out of immediate things she could accomplish, Peggy glanced at the Chief's office that sat unusually empty that day. The last time it had sat empty like this had been right after Chief Dooley's death, before Jack had time to take over and send Chief's personal affects to his family. It had felt similarly disturbing then.

Peggy didn't know if Jack ever blamed her for her role in Chief Dooley's demise; if he did he kept it close to the vest. Fact was, Peggy had never entirely reconciled herself with the idea that she'd brought the murderer into their office; just as she'd never quite forgiven herself for Colleen O'Brien and too many others that had suffered consequences of her choices. With that in mind, Peggy wasn't about to lose another Chief of the SSR on her watch, and if it wasn't a simple cold, she had to be ready. But ready to fight what? A virus? An allergic reaction? Peggy felt helpless, sitting behind her desk and watching the dust starting to gather on the desk in front of her that had been Daniel's, once. She wished desperately she could speak to him now. Perhaps he would have some ideas on how to approach this coherently. He'd been dosed with Howard's Midnight Oil that one time and had recovered without any ill-effects after he got past the urge to murder people. But Daniel was three thousand miles away, and any thoughts of finding comfort in his thoughtfulness was just a fantasy to her now.

This trail of thought was enough to make her once again roll out the blueprints to the bank Dottie was planning to hit, and submerge herself in work where she didn't have to think about anything except Russian spies for several hours.

By lunch-time, Peggy felt like she had sat on her hands long enough. There were still no news from Howard, who'd hared of to who knew where again, and was unreachable. At the labs, Peggy learned that the scientists had no real updates for her and the news determined her next step: to check on Jack again and if he wasn't feeling better, take him to the hospital. She headed out to his apartment mid-afternoon.

She had considered recruiting Agent Harris to come along, already mentally prepared for Jack to be intractable, but then Peggy thought of how she would feel if she were sick and someone like Jack marched a couple of her coworkers to her place, to see her at her lowest. Peggy went by herself. She might not always know what to do with Jack, but _this_ she understood.

She'd let his apartment door lock shut behind her while leaving that morning, and that meant on the way up to his place Peggy stopped by the landlord (a charming blond woman in her sixties) flashing her federal agent ID and quickly obtaining the key to Jack's place. On the way up to the fifth floor she considered how easily someone with more malevolent intentions could gain access to Jack while he was indisposed.

She knocked on his door, not expecting an answer. At best, she could hope to find him soundly asleep. After a minute waiting by the door in the silent hallway, Peggy used the spare key and went inside his place again.

"Jack?" she called, not finding him on the couch where she'd left him. The phone still lay on the floor, but the receiver off the hook.

She glanced towards the bedroom, the door to which was only half-shut. "Jack?" she called again, the hope that he'd come outside fading with each moment. When there was no answer, Peggy closed her eyes briefly, recalling all the similar moments when she'd gone to retrieve her brother Michael and regretted it, mentally steeled herself, and went to the bedroom door.

Jack was lying across the bed on his stomach on the bed covers, his face sideways on one arm, as though he'd basically laid down in one position and stayed there unmoving. He was wearing some kind of a knitted shirt with large stripes and a Norwegian snow pattern and light wool trousers. When she came in, Jack lifted his head and said, "Will you stop making the phone ring off the hook?"

"I didn't phone you." Peggy said, approaching cautiously inside his bedroom. It was a simple affair with a large bed in the middle and a dark grey cover, and a dark wood night-table with yesterday's newspaper on it. The owner of the bed met her gaze with ill, red-rimmed eyes and a sour expression.

"Then you put everyone else up to it," Jack mumbled, unapologetic. "I am _trying_ to get some _sleep_."

"How are you feeling?"

"Like the Seven Dwarfs are having a party in my head." He coughed once and cleared his throat.

"I don't suppose I could convince you to see a doctor."

"And find out what? Either it _is_ the flu, in which case I'll get over it. Or it's something your buddy Stark concocted in which case no regular doctor is gonna help."

Peggy had to admit he had a point. What they needed was Howard's advice!

"Have the lab guys found anything?" Jack said almost hopefully. He looked pathetic, lying there without even the energy to lift his head while they talked. 

Peggy shook her head.

"Typical," he mumbled and shut his eyes, turning his face into the covers, as if burying his head in them would make the illness go away. Peggy was suddenly sure that she much preferred Jack in the office, giving his most infuriating orders, to this pale and helpless shadow of himself. Apparently, he'd grown on her without her noticing. 

Peggy stood uncertainly in the doorway. Maybe if Daniel was here he could have made Jack listen: for Peggy it had always been an uphill battle to get him to take her concerns seriously. But she couldn't think of Daniel now, she'd think of him tomorrow.

"You are still here," Jack said after a moment. "Why?"

"Well, someone needs to keep an eye on you. You can't defend yourself." Perhaps she didn't feel as decided as she sounded, but she came inside and leaned against one of the walls, hands behind her back.

Jack's voice was muffled by the covers but she could just barely distinguish his wheezy voice, "What have I got to defend against? Your incessant nagging?"

"You are Chief of the New York SSR. Who knows how many people might want you dead just based on that alone." Peggy stared for a long time at the lump on the bed, and couldn't help adding under her breath, "And who could blame them."

Jack lifted up his face and glared weakly.

Peggy shifted her weight. She _mostly_ didn't mean it.

"The one who'd be best served by this is Underwood," Jack groaned and rolled over to the side, before getting an arm under him and sitting up, clearing his throat and swaying like an old man.

"What are you doing?" Peggy said alarmed. "Jack, you should _rest_."

"Like I can rest with you watching me like a gargoyle," he said crabbily. "If you're here, we might as well discuss business." He coughed and rubbed his sternum.

"Dottie is none of your concern now," Peggy scoffed.

"You're not going after her without me," Jack snapped, even as another dry coughing fit overtook him. 

"Yes, you'd be a real help." Peggy set a hand on her hip, watching him wheeze. "Maybe you can cough on her. Give her your flu."

Jack tried to respond but he couldn't speak for coughing, bending over and pulling a hand to his chest like he was trying to physically hold the itchy sensation in the airways back from overcoming him. After a moment when his coughing fit didn't seem to subside, Peggy went and poured him some lukewarm water from a kettle in the kitchen. He grabbed the glass out of her hand roughly, sloshing some as he gulped down a good swallow but it seemed to have helped. Wearily, Jack rubbed his brow and set the glass on his thigh.

"Damn," he croaked, his throat clearly too sore for speaking. The cough threatened to start again but with an effort and another quick sip of water, Jack controlled it for the moment. He kept rubbing his chest, like it felt too tight but made no move to lie down again, and Peggy frowned.

"Are you having trouble breathing?"

"No," he answered instantly. Sighed, which turned into a short brutal cough after which he corrected himself, looking more than a little worried: "Yes." 

Peggy crossed her arms on her chest. "Any other symptoms? Have you checked for fever?"

He pressed a hand to his forehead. Shook his head and stood up by the bed with difficulty. "Lying down is worse."

He looked down at his hands, seeming to take stock for a moment, looking lost. He was obviously trying to get enough breath and couldn't.

"I don't think this is the flu," Jack said, or wheezed rather, "throat's tight," ― Peggy observed with growing fear his inability to complete his sentences in one breath. Whatever it was, it was progressing ― "Chest is tight." Whether from agitation or illness, he was taking all-too-short breaths.

"You are getting worse," Peggy said critically.

"Tell me something I don't―" but he never got to finish as another coughing fit overtook him.

"This looks like an allergic reaction to me. You need the hospital. Jack, don't make me knock you out and drag you there."

"You're just itching to," he gasped out, grabbing for the wall and bending over, trying to draw in breath.

"Please, don't talk," Peggy said, grabbing him by the elbow and aiming him towards the door. At least he could walk unaided. "Besides, we both know I could, if I had to." She didn't often bring up the situation outside the diner since it had been a tough call to throw that punch, but she felt the memory of that moment spring up between her and Jack at times. Jack had never dismissed her strength again, after that encounter. Presently, he looked like a flick of a wrist could take him out, and she watched with alarm the red flush on his previously pallid skin. Her non-exhaustive training took over as she thought of what he might need, but all she knew about allergies was a shot of adrenaline could help. Which they would only find at the hospital, not here. She should have insisted he get himself checked out this morning, because now it looked like they were on the clock.

Small favours ― Jack didn't argue with her. His difficulty breathing had progressed to the point that he was visibly scared of his own condition, agitation in his jerky movements, and eyes flitting every which way as they made it down to the ground floor. Peggy tried to be the steady head, which she was an old hand at when it came to dealing with those hurt or unwell. When the cab picked them up, she gave the address of the nearest hospital ― luckily Jack didn't live far away.

Jack had tried to protest her coming along at first. "I'll cab it. We need you focused on Underwood," he had pressed out with difficulty, "not playing mother-hen." But his voice had gone to a whisper towards the end, and she could see the strain he was under just to walk in a straight line. There was no practical way to leave him, even if Peggy had wanted to. Dottie was supposed to hit the bank tomorrow, and they had precious little time to waste. Jack understood it, and his willingness to let her go spoke to a real desire to capture the enemy spy. He'd been adamantly against taking a back-seat on this investigation since they got the lead, but just one look at him now was enough to know he wouldn't be on the job tomorrow.

In the cab, Jack tried to lean back against the seats and visibly struggled to slow down his breathing. Peggy counted his breaths for a full minute: they were at least thirty five, much too high, with unsatisfying short inhales. She took his wrist, noting the racing pulse.

At the hospital, the nurses didn't make much of his condition since he wasn't bleeding or presenting any symptoms that couldn't be easily mistaken for a bad cold. Even once Peggy had uttered the magical word 'allergy' and Jack received a closer look, at which point medical jargon like 'dyspnoea' and 'gradual-onset' began to be bandied back and forth, they still didn't have much to go on. Jack wasn't choking on anything and didn't have any chest injuries. Much like Peggy and Jack themselves, the medical personnel didn't recognize the severity of the situation at the start, but at some point Jack had simply sat down in the nearby chair and couldn't get up, his breaths more like gasps, lips going blue. A senior physician took a look at him then and ordered immediate epinephrine injection. Jack was taken away from the reception room while the doctor quizzed Peggy.

"Ma'am, are you related?"

"We are coworkers," Peggy said, adding to lend her statements gravity, "At a federal agency. I know Chief Thompson's medical history. He was exposed to some unknown chemical yesterday. The symptoms appeared gradually until it was obvious he was having a reaction to something."

"It presents as bronchial asthmatic attack. Does Mr. Thompson have a history of asthma?"

"None." She'd read Jack's files, including recruitment materials from when he'd joined up to go to war. He was in perfect health, no asthma and no known allergies. Whatever had been in that canister...but Peggy was more than slightly aware of Howard Stark's proclivity to bend the laws of what was humanly possible. He had a constant thirst for diving into the deepest secrets of the sciences and playing with what he found like a little boy, gleeful at his new toy. She couldn't hate him for it, but it was a characteristic of his that forever repulsed her away, like an anti-magnetic field. Still, when it came down to it, Howard put other people before his bloody inventions, or he had in the past. She would speak to him, as soon as she was able, about what else was in the SSR lab that could cause mayhem.

As soon as she was free to see Jack, Peggy visited his hospital room. Jack looked nervous, but that was just as likely the adrenaline injection he'd been given. The fingers of his hand were drumming a soft beat on his thigh. Already his lips were no longer blue and the frantic look was gone from his eyes. The nurses hovered around them, coming and going and checking the IV that was attached to his arm.

"Now I'm also nauseated," he quipped when Peggy walked in. He noticed the drumming and curled his hand into a fist to stop it.

Peggy came closer, observing him, "You're breathing better."

Of course, as bad as it had gotten towards the end, the only thing worse would have been if his air pathways had closed up entirely. 

Jack gave a short nod. He was by no means alright, and the injection would wear off in a dozen minutes, at which point he'd have to be watched and treated based on the symptoms he presented then. The two of them stared at each other for a long moment, knowing that the previously ignored subject of their job was on the agenda again. Peggy was trying not to think of how much time she'd spent not thinking about Dottie today, and how that was likely to backfire when they weren't prepared tomorrow.

"So, you'd better go―"  
"I have to go―"

They had spoken in chorus. 

Jack gave a tight nod. "I won't be there. You're in charge."

Peggy nodded back. "You don't have to worry, Chief Thompson. We'll do a good job."

Jack cracked a half-smile. "If any of those yahoos at the office give you any trouble, have them phone me here. I'll make sure they follow your lead."

Peggy tilted her head, a smile breaking out on her face. For a moment, she didn't trust the ease of his words, they betrayed a higher opinion of her ability than she could normally depend on. But then, life-and-death circumstances had previously led him to reveal much deeper secrets.

"You're not simply saying that?" Peggy had to ask to be sure.

"The only thing more irritating than the thought of being out of the loop, is the thought of Underwood going free," Jack said. "I know how bad you want to catch her. Go."

Peggy didn't try to keep her smile hidden this time. She went.  


 

* * *

 

It turned out for naught. 

Peggy had kept her mind on the job as best she could after leaving the hospital. While giving orders and pouring over new information as it came in, she kept coming back to the thought that if she hadn't checked on Jack that second time, who knows what might have happened. Between the slow progression of his symptoms and his natural reticence to admit anything whatsoever was wrong, things could have turned out grave indeed. Never again would she take the words out of his mouth at face value, Peggy thought with consternation, he always had something more going on, which generally came out in the most aggravating fashion. In the meantime, she had left him to people best suited to helping him medically. Her job was to catch Dottie and she put all her knowledge of the bank's security to use in trying to anticipate where the attack would come from.

They'd posted watch on rooftops around the building and had their agents augment the bank security. She'd encountered zero resistance from the other Agents. If anything, she was sensing a bit of a hero-worship from the group of men she now worked with. There had been a thrilling moment when Agent Harris had eagerly reported over the radio a woman of Dottie Underwood's description, dark-haired and tall, with chiseled features and cold eyes walk past the bank's entrance. Peggy had sprung up, knowing in her gut it had to be Underwood. But the woman hadn't entered the bank, and by the time they followed her on Peggy's orders, she had disappeared. It had been a test; she'd made the additional security at the bank, or she had noticed the movement in one of the windows above. Regardless, something had tipped her off and instead of executing her plan, she'd moved behind the building's corner and there her trail vanished without a trace. Agents poured over the small side-streets for a good part of the afternoon with no luck. They were stationed at strategic points for the rest of the evening, in case Dottie came back after bank's closing, but in her heart Peggy knew they'd missed their chance. Her own chance to prove herself, as well.

Sore with defeat and disheartened, Peggy made it to Jack's hospital room before the work-day was out.

Jack took one look at her expression and knew instantly how it had gone.

"Damn it," he whispered fiercely, gripping the bed covers in a fist. 

He looked much better, the normal color having returned to his cheeks. He was still dressed the same as the day before, a knitted shirt and trousers, but looked just about ready to hop off the hospital bed and leave. None of that worrying dazed discomfort from before. Having kept him in the hospital for observation, the doctors were now fairly certain that he could be safely released. Peggy would be having a talk with Howard at earliest opportunity about any possible side-effects.

Jack didn't thank Peggy for bringing him to the hospital, nor was she waiting for it.

"I'm sorry," Peggy said, all of her frustration poured into those words, and then straightened her shoulders and gave her report as she normally would, even though their surrounding was decidedly different.

"It's not your fault, Carter," Jack waved her off. "If anything, it's mine, for being a distraction." And there, just like that, was the candid acknowledgment of the situation that she hadn't expected. 

He got off the bed, looking and moving like his normal self. She tried to see how much of it was a show for her benefit, but couldn't see any cracks in the facade and so had to accept it at face value: he really was better. It was strange to see him dressed so casually, but the relief Peggy felt at the realization that he was alright overwhelmed any other considerations.

Jack's frown and his business-like tone yanked her back to the present. "Do you think she'll make a repeat visit tomorrow?"

Peggy shook her head. "My sense is Dottie has gone to ground. Who know how long before she'll resurface again."

Jack nodded agreement. "She spotted us and she won't make the mistake again. But whatever she needs is still in that bank."

"Yes, and she'll have to come back for it eventually. We'll just have to think of a way not to tip our hand." Peggy tilted her head, thinking for a moment, a plan unfurling of how they might go about things. If they assumed that Dottie wouldn't show her face too quickly, they had time to play the long-game, integrate their agents inside the bank and make absolutely certain that Dottie didn't suspect a thing when she came in. It would take time and a lot of work to pull it off. 

Peggy glanced at the man beside her, considering. A real team effort.

She thought wryly, if the past months have been any sign, at least she wouldn't be bored.  


 

* * *

 

When they did catch Dottie, nearly five months later, they did it together.

 

**Fin.**

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from the famous quote which I thought apropos to how much better Peggy and Jack understand each other following the events of season 2: 
> 
> "For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face." ― Corinthians 13:12


End file.
